


Everybody Knows

by phoebesmum



Category: Sports Night
Genre: Challenge Response, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-03
Updated: 2010-09-03
Packaged: 2017-10-11 10:46:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoebesmum/pseuds/phoebesmum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>They think that it's a secret.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Everybody Knows

**Author's Note:**

> Written 1 July 2010 for the Sorkinverse challenge _International Day of Slash_. I didn't even know there _was_ an International Day of Slash, but I'm all in favour of it.

They think that it's a secret.

No, really. They actually, honestly believe that they're being wonderfully tactful and one hundred per cent discreet. They think that no-one's noticed, no-one knows.

In reality, of course, _everybody_ knows: the security guards in the lobby, the cleaning staff, the guy who changes the filters in the water cooler, the woman who dusts the potted plants. Production staff, Teamsters, wardrobe and make-up, cast, crew and stuffed-shirt studio executives – every one of them knows, and not one of them gives a damn other than to wish them well. Not that it's anybody else's business, it's not up to them to approve or to disapprove, but … 'approve' is better. 'Approve' is devoutly to be wished. If there's anyone out there who disapproves, well, that's their problem, and they can keep it to themselves.

Most of all, Dana knows. Of course she does. She's known these guys for over fifteen years, longer even than they've known one another; she's not just their boss, she's companion, sister, friend. Nor is she deaf, or blind, or stupid; she noticed the instant their voices changed in tone, hears how differently they speak to one another now – not softer or gentler but with an intimacy, a knowledge that can only belong to lovers. She registered when the touches that they've always shared (and that, that right there, shouldn't that have been a clue?) became more sensual, when the simple touch of a hand to a shoulder turned into a loving, lingering caress. And if she doubted any of that evidence, then the times that Casey's come to work wearing one of Dan's sweaters, that Dan's been wrapped in the warmth of Casey's expensive cashmere scarf – those would tell their own tale.

Their lives are their own, to live as they will, to love where they will, and there's no-one in this world or the next has any right to tell them otherwise. But nevertheless, they've chosen secrecy. And, in their way (Dana hates to admit this), they're right. For all of Calvin Trager's self-professed tolerance, she suspects he might not be so liberal if the viewing figures should start to drop. Which (and Dana hates to admit this, too) they most certainly would. But on-screen Dan and Casey are characters that the real Dan and Casey assume automatically when the cameras roll, louder, brighter, brasher than the men she works with every day, and those personas, at least, remain the same.

And so: secrecy; shared, knowing smiles, furtive kisses in deserted corridors and storerooms. These things, she remembers from her teenage years, have a joy of their own, that delight in the forbidden that's a part of human nature. Nonetheless, she thinks they must curse the architect who designed them a glass-walled office, and hides a smile of her own. She loves them both, very much indeed, and, because she loves them, she's allowed to mock them gently while still supporting them fully, in every way.

One day, she hopes, they'll trust her enough to tell her what she already knows. And she'll gasp, and put her hand to her heart – she'll clutch her pearls if she happens to be wearing them that day – and say, "But Lisa … Rebecca … _me!_" – just for the joy, really, of seeing their horrified expressions, hearing their flustered, blustering excuses and explanations and apologies. (_Gotcha!_) But for now …

… for now, she'll play along. Let them believe what they will. It harms no-one, and if it makes them happy – god. If it makes them happy: after all these years, don't they at least deserve that?

Don't we all?

***


End file.
